


Jesus Christ

by Gamebird



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, Mentioned Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Mentioned Quynh | Noriko, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27268822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamebird/pseuds/Gamebird
Summary: Early in his existence as an immortal, Nicolo grapples with his relationship with his faith, primarily by questioning the similarities between themselves and the various forms of resurrection in the Christian Bible.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Kudos: 31





	Jesus Christ

**Author's Note:**

> Religion is a sensitive subject, I know. Let me know if my treatment has been less than respectful, or glaringly inaccurate. Even at the end, despite everything, Nicolo still considers himself a devout man who believes in the existence of God. His statements capitalize the divine 'He'. Yusuf's do not.

"Do you think Jesus was like us?"

Nicolo's question came after Yusuf straightened from his prayers. They'd fallen into the habit of praying together, each in their own fashion. Nicolo used the time to peruse his tattered Bible while Yusuf knelt toward Mecca. This was the first time Nicolo had broached a theological question with him. Yusuf pondered it, brows knitting.

Nicolo said, "Or … is that … blasphemy? To imagine ourselves like Him?"

Yusuf raised a brow. Still kneeling, he straightened his robes as much as he could. "It's not blasphemy if we're not claiming to be divine. He is male. We are male. It is not blasphemy to find similarities."

Nicolo nodded. "Okay. Okay. He rose from the dead. Did Muhammad rise from the dead?"

"No." Yusuf gave him a questioning look. Carefully, he asked, "Why do you ask these questions? Where do you- What do you wish to discuss with them?" The language between them was sufficient for basic understanding, but there were still difficulties, especially with things as nuanced as faith.

"I know we haven't talked about religion. Just politics. But I my thoughts turn to why we do not die. Why God does not take us? He must have a purpose for us. What purpose has He had for others like us? Are there … examples?"

Yusuf nodded slowly, considering it. There was much potential for offense in the Frank's words. There often was, but he had learned to look past that. "I do not think we are prophets," he said finally.

Nicolo tilted his head slightly – confused, maybe. Or disagreeing? Yusuf was no more sure of his expressions than he was of his words. Nicolo asked, "Can you define that word?" He repeated the term Yusuf had used for 'prophet'.

"We do not speak for God," Yusuf said. "He does not speak through us. No more than he does through anyone else. Which is, maybe yes, sometimes. Or maybe yes, all the time. But to be his prophet would require understanding, knowing some goal we have to accomplish. I know of no goal, except with you."

Nicolo gave a small, serious nod, followed by a flash of a warm and tender smile that made Yusuf's stomach lurch. Then he was back to being serious. "This ability we have is of God. It is godly. We should not profane it."

"How would we profane it?"

"I don't know." Nicolo chewed his lip briefly and touched the cover of his Bible. "I don't know. I will pray for guidance."

Yusuf grunted and nodded. They sat for several minutes together, comfortable in one another's company. Finally, Yusuf said, "What of our dreams? Are those revelations? There are passages in the Quran that mention revelations."

"Revelations?"

"Ah, visions. Imaginings, thoughts, sent by God."

"Ah." Nicolo repeated the term for 'revelations'. "You mean the dreams of the women? The riders."

Yusuf nodded. "They mean something."

"Are we to be like them?"

"Maybe we are to find them," Yusuf suggested.

"Are they real? Why would God send us visions of them? Like the guiding star over Bethlehem? But … where are we to go? How do we find them?"

Yusuf shook his head. "Their horses are from the north. And their clothing. I have seen similar from the traders who cross the mountains before the sea."

Nicolo put his hands together, steepling his fingers, and touched the longest of them to his lips. "I don't know what we are to do. This is important."

Yusuf reached out to touch his knee briefly. "God will make it clear when we need to know. Submit to God's will and all will be clear."

"You are right," Nicolo said. He put aside his Bible and they stood together to return to their work. "The mind of God is not for us to know, only to ___ for."

"What? What is that word? Only to what for?"

"Work for." Nicolo wasn't using the same word that he had said before, but one of close meaning.

Yusuf grimaced. Working hard to understand God's will was almost the diametrical opposite of what he was trying to say about submission to God's plan and greater wisdom. But … it had not been Nicolo's first choice of what to say. Perhaps the nuance was being lost. If Yusuf had faith in anything, it was that Nicolo meant well. He nodded.

* * *

"We are marked above and beyond all of God's people," Nicolo said the next day, out of the blue as they were taking their rest in the shade of the building. "I have found nothing in the Bible that explains this or references it. There are people brought back from the dead, but it is always clearly through God's blessing."

"I feel blessed," Yusuf said.

Nicolo was quiet for a moment, before nodding agreement. "I am also blessed. This is true."

"Maybe there are parts of the Bible you haven't read yet that address it."

"I have read it all."

"You have?"

"Yes. I was a priest. It was required."

Yusuf grunted.

"There is no part," Nicolo went on, "that covers us, healing as we do. Resurrection is there. But not this … ___."

It was another word Yusuf didn't know. "The healing?"

Nicolo nodded. "Not that comes from within ourselves." He pointed to his chest. "Healing can come from God, through His prophets or angels, or just from Him. But it is always to His glory." He exhaled and said one of the few impious things Yusuf had heard him utter: "It seems He has overlooked telling us how this glorifies Him."

Yusuf scratched an itchy spot on his arm. "Your teachings are very different from my teachings. I have not read all the Quran or the related …" He hesitated, not sure which words Nicolo knew, as he was clearly ignorant of even the broad strokes of Yusuf's religion. "Writings. But they are different. What if some of them are … not right?"

The skin over the bridge of Nicolo's nose wrinkled just a bit in distaste or the beginnings of anger. The Frank looked away. When he spoke, it was quicker than usual for him. His words were clipped. "It may be that there are mistranslations. Or scribing errors. Or things that are misunderstood or were misreported. But God would not have allowed things which were ___."

"Things which were what?"

"Wrong."

"Ah." They sat for a moment. Yusuf gestured at the world around them. "So why would he have allowed Muslims to exist? Or Christians and Muslims to battle?"

Nicolo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I do not know." He sounded tense.

Yusuf reached over and touched his shoulder, a little more carefully than he would have had they been stacking bricks and leveling the foundation as they had been earlier. His touch was not refused. He patted and rubbed briefly. "Maybe we are not meant to know. We are only meant to know what we have between us and before us – the things that God gives us and the things we understand as men."

Nicolo shot him a look that appeared grateful. "Yes."

* * *

"My blanket is still wet," Nicolo said, fretting with it. It had been a cold, rainy day and promised to be an even colder night. The weather hadn't been so apparent that morning when Nicolo had taken it upon himself to wash the blanket he slept under.

"Not to worry," Yusuf told him casually. "Mine is dry. Come here and we will sleep like brothers. It will be warmer even than if your blanket was dry."

Nicolo gave him a long look, as if weighing the offer. The hospitality of family was not given lightly. He seemed to understand this, despite Yusuf's tone, which had been with the intention of not conveying any obligation should he be inclined to refuse. Nicolo came to him and laid down on the sleeping mat, facing away. Yusuf adjusted the blanket over both of them and laid close, cleaving to him.

Sleeping together was as simple as that. The next night was just as cold, but not wet. Still, Nicolo toyed with his blanket, which hung on the drying rack that Nicolo had never removed it from. "This might still be wet," he said, a look to his face that was hard to read in the dimness – mischief? Hope?

Yusuf raised the edge of his own blanket invitingly. They slept together every night after that. They came to know each other more, with declarations of affection and soft touches that built until they took their pleasure with one another. Yusuf came to realize then, something that had happened long before and he had not known it: he'd fallen in love.

And maybe that fall had come as early as when they'd first stayed their weapons from one another. He did not know. What he knew was that it did not start when they first made love with their bodies. For they had made love much before that, and the part with their bodies was just a consummation.

* * *

The two women found them. They were invited inside for hot tea and what limited food they had – yesterday's bread and dates. Anything else would take longer to gather and prepare, as they had already finished the last proper meal of the day. The women didn't seem to mind. They explained themselves and their shared immunity to age, infirmity, and injury.

Marveling at their age, Nicolo asked, "Did you know Jesus?"

The one who had introduced herself as Andromache looked perplexed. "Who?"

"Jesus. The Christ. The Son of God."

"Oh. Him." She shook her head dismissively. "He didn't exist. He was made up."

"What?" Nicolo looked stunned, probably not least by her casual certainty.

"They made him up. It's just a story."

The woman with her, Quynh, said, "Jesus is a common name. Being a carpenter is a common profession. I would think there was likely _someone_ who fit that."

"Yes," Andromache said, "but he's not the son of a god. That's fake."

"He rose from the dead," Nicolo said, his words hollow.

"That wasn't one of us," Andromache said. "We would have dreamed him. We did not. And anyway, anyone who was around at the time never heard any of those stories. The priests made them up later to get people to join their church. You fought for them, didn't you?"

Nicolo said nothing. He looked devastated, as you would expect for a man off-handedly informed that his entire faith was built on a lie, and that he'd been suckered into waging war to aggrandize others.

Quietly, Yusuf asked, "And Muhammad?"

She shrugged. "He existed, as far as I can tell. He was a businessman. It's a business."

"Islam is a business?" Yusuf asked, still quiet.

"Every religion is a business. I was worshipped as a god for longer than it has been since they made up the stories of Jesus. Maybe three times as long as it has been since Muhammad started his. It's a way to get people to follow you and do what you tell them. It works well. People like to believe in things."

"I need some air," Nicolo said. He rose and walked outside.

Yusuf watched him go, then regarded Andromache with a judgmental expression for her lack of compassion. She understood it, for she said, "I'm not here to lie to you."

"I appreciate that," he said stiffly as he got to his feet. "Please excuse me." He went outside, finding Nicolo standing in the twilight, looking at where the sun was setting. He took Nicolo's hand and looked at the sunset with him. The man sighed.

"We …" Nicolo started, then switched. "I … I knew. We've even discussed it. I've had doubts." His brows were pulled together and up, an expression akin to grief.

"You believe them? Two women who came from nowhere?"

"From our dreams," Nicolo corrected. "They came from our dreams. We've known about them for years now."

"Do you believe them?"

Nicolo turned to him and took his other hand so he was holding both. "I believe myself. I believe what I know. I know that I love you and you are not Christian. I know that I have felt no calling except to love you, love others, and protect them." He swallowed. "The Church … did not teach me these things. Sometimes their teachings were hate. And evil. This I have come to know, through knowing you. And if Jesus did not exist, then I am not an apostate. There is nothing to renounce." He rubbed Yusuf's hands. "What of you, and Islam?"

"Mm, I will think about it." Yusuf swayed their joined hands ambivalently. "I'm not sure it changes anything."

Nicolo smiled gently. "I think you are very wise. You are right. It does not change anything. We still have our love. And a purpose - to know the mind of God, to be godly men, and good people." He shook his head slightly. "It doesn't have anything to do with the Church or their stories. It has to do with us."

**Author's Note:**

> The words Yusuf doesn't understand are: strive, rejuvenation, and inerrant.


End file.
